


The Little Ones

by B0WSandARR0WS



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, How does Captain America Fix This?, I couldn't help but put Darcy in, Kid Clint Barton, Kid Thor, Kid Tony Stark, Oh Dear, Poor baby Tony, and crack, and cutesy-ness, but Thor loves him, but oh well, deaging, mean Loki, slightly ooc Bruce, will be fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:11:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B0WSandARR0WS/pseuds/B0WSandARR0WS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there are flying purple hippos in Central Park, Loki is a meanie pants, three of the avengers are turned into kids, Tony is adorable and there are a few epic love stories occurring at once.<br/>Oh, well. That's probably what happens when you're an avenger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I look at my computer and see that I've got 16 pages of unrefined deaging fic. I guess that this is what I'm doing whilst procrastinating about revising and finishing Corner Coffee...

“Loki, stop this!” Thor shouts, anguished, standing in the middle of Central Park with Mjolnir raised high, cape flapping mightily in the wind. “Brother, please!”  
After the battle, Loki had been sent back to Asgard with his powers stripped like a naughty toddler—he was now limited to ‘minor mischief’, but that wasn’t exactly easy for Planet Earth; mostly due to the fact that ‘minor mischief’ appears to include mannequins coming to life, NERF guns suddenly turning into real weapons overnight, and now the latest; ridiculous, gigantic, _flying_ purple hippos intent on dominating Central Park. Nothing had actually killed anyone (Frigga had been a dear when it came to the ‘your adopted Norse god son just turned a bunch of fake weapons into real ones and they’re kind of killing people’ thing and done a quickie on turning them back) but there had been a lot of worry for everyone.

A hippo flies over and knocks against Thor with its giant, folded up wings and Thor stumbles back, tripping over his cape and falling over. Loki cackles uncontrollably while Thor gets up, grass stains on his cape. “Loki! You are being a child!”  
  
Amidst the chaos, an expression of pure mischievous enlightenment crosses Loki’s face. He laughs insanely, yelling, “Oh, brother. We shall see who is the child.”

 

Oo0oO

Tony wakes up in a big bed, in a really big room. He feels.... Funny. Kinda tingly. Like everything in his body is not quite right. His fingers and toes seem shorter than he's used to, but it's just a vague sensation in the back of his head. He doesn't remember how he got here.  
Tony knows his parents must have taken him to a hotel or something after he fell asleep. It has happened before, but now he travels in the day because he's a big boy.  
He looks around the room. It's quite stylish and everything is made of dark wood and is brown or red, trimmed in shiny silver metal. Much more better than some of the places he's been. He spots something shining on the dresser.  
"Wow!" He gapes, wide-eyed, at the most beautifully complicated computer he's ever seen. It's really thin and has no wires, and when he touches it, the bright blue screen moves around with him.  
He had built his first computer from scratch yesterday, coding and framework. He wanted to play and use it, but Daddy didn't allow him to touch after it was finished. He mustn't touch this one either. He can't be naughty or Daddy might get angry. Instead, he keeps exploring this new room.  
  
Photos line every section of the walls and every available surface; really detailed, _color_ ful photos. Some are old and tattered around the edges, well-loved—pinned up like badges of honor, while some pictures sit, slightly faded, in neutrally colored frames, adorning the walls or propped up on a bookshelf or desk as if they are too important to be tarnished. They all star a man with a funny beard and a bright light in his chest, sometimes standing with a dark skinned man in an army uniform, a tall woman with orange hair wearing pointy shoes, a blonde muscle-y guy with big, blue eyes and a kind smile. They all stand close together, smiling with arms casually draped around each other in the various photos. Looking comfortable around the other. There are others there, too-- a wicked redhead grinning evilly for the camera, holding knives and posing with a tanned man who's holding a fancy bow and arrow, a nervous-looking guy smiling and twisting his hands, a man with dirty blonde hair down to his shoulders and a few days’ worth of stubble holding a huge hammer over his head and fake smoldering at whoever's taking the picture. They look like they're having fun. _Wonder what that's like,_ he thinks in an unprompted flash of bitterness. It's all work for him-- build this, build that. He lets the wave of sourness wash over him.  
  
The photos prove one thing, though-- this isn't a hotel, after all. This is someone's house. The possibilities run through Tony's mind, eliminated due to probability and practicality; this is probably a kidnapping, then. The big, fancy room must be to try and keep him calm. Tony knows what a kidnapping is like, has been taken twice already, (once when he was two, an attempt when he was three and another when he was five, a two-month long spell in a small grey room when he was six) so he knows that Jarvis will come for him in the car with a wordless exchange of money, then for the next month he will be made to sit in photo shoots and interviews with his 'parents', with way too many fake smiles, forced laughter and sweaty pats on his back, plus a hard thumping when he gets home if anything goes wrong. Tony decides to mull over his unfair life until someone comes and either makes him build something or beats him up 'till he's bloody to use for a ransom video.  
  
The door suddenly opens. The redhead who was holding the knives in the picture walks in, yelling almost fondly but not really. She looks like a dark avenging angel or something, with her hair around her like fire, and she is _terrifying_. Tony hurriedly straightens his sheets and scrambles off the bed, standing in front of it with his hands clasped behind him.  
"I can't _believe_ that you're still in your room! Anthony _Edward_ Stark, I don’t care how wiped out you are from yesterday, if you don't answer your phone the next time I call you, I will personally shoot you, after Pepper cuts off your balls with a—" She stops short, looking down to see Tony, whose spine is straight and is looking down like a timid mouse. She sighs and mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like Russian before she kneels down to look Tony in the eye.

“Tony?” He nods frantically. “Tony, would you mind coming downstairs with me?” He shakes his head, not meeting her eyes. “There’s toast in the kitchen, and I need to go find Steve, is that okay?” He nods silently. Sighing, she tilts his head up gently to look at him, and there’s something warm in her eyes that makes his chest hurt. She gently takes his hand and smiles reassuringly at him when he gets up and walks a few steps behind the lady. She's much nicer than any other kidnappers.  
  
\----  
Clint hugs his knees, breathing harshly but as quietly as he can while he rocks back and forth. He's in a small, metal tunnel and everything echoes in here. It scares him. Where is he? Maybe he was hiding from the shouting and fell asleep. He normally hides in the wardrobe, though. Maybe _he_ found him? It's scary when that happens.  
The shouting is still going on, loud and vicious, and he flinches with every yelled word. The voices don't sound like Mommy and Daddy, though; two men, but one of them is calm and reassuring while the other is hard, fast, like bullets exploding from a gun. He looks through the grill in the floor and sees a bald man with an eyepatch and trench coat screaming at a smaller man in a suit, who doesn’t even flinch.  
"...Irresponsible waste of a good agent! You could have died, Coulson! Protecting him is not your job!"  
  
"Sir, I am the avengers' handler so it is technically my responsibility—"  
  
"Nearly dying in the field to save Barton is not your responsibility, Phil, don't give me that 'technically' bullshit. He can take care of himself."  
  
"But—"  
  
"Clint could have gotten out _on his own_. Don't pretend that this isn't because of your soft spot for him."  
  
The suited man's forehead wrinkles and he straightens, looking affronted and defensive.  
"Sir, I do not have a _soft spot_ for-"  
  
"-Yes, Phil, you do. Believe it or not, we are friends, and we have talked about your feelings for Barton before, for years now; hell, you started that first conversation before backing out like the skinny little chicken shit you are." The eyepatch dude checks his watch and sighs. “I have a meeting in half an hour. Get the hell out of my office. We _will_ discuss this later." The one with the eyepatch waves his hand dismissively and the suited man sighs and moves to leave.  
  
Clint Barton! That's _his_ name! The man was protecting _him_? Why? Why would someone risk their life for him? What had happened? The suited man had left the room now and the bald one was hunched over something bright with a sigh, making clickety-clackety noises when he presses the buttons. He's scary.  
Very quietly, Clint crawls back through the tunnel, following the marks in the dust.  
  
Much later, he finds a loose grille and pulls it open with a clank, jumping through the hole and landing on a squishy bed. It's way more comfy than the floor that he sleeps on at home, but he doesn't feel safe enough to sleep.  
  
He grabs the covers and drags them up to the vent, drifting off in a couple of minutes up high where he feels safe.  
  
\--  
These are not his chambers in Asgard. His chambers are filled with the finest red silk drapes and are gleaming gold and wicked silver. There are tapestries of the shining armor he will one day wear and mighty hammer mjolnir he will one day wield in the glorious field of battle. There are no such objects here. These are not his chambers.  
True, this room is gold and silver and red, but there is a strange wooden surface with an odd stool that has an edge to it and a wall that shifts colors, but is not a wall for it shows the outside as if it was made of glass. A voice much like his own speaks from everywhere at once,  
"Greetings, Prince Thor. The weather in New York, Midgard, is going to be sunny today. It is 41 degrees outside."  
Midgard! It cannot be true! Leaping off the bed, he goes to gaze out of the glass panel. His body feels odd; blood racing around in a slightly different way, heart pumping faster, tips of his fingers aching slightly, but he ignores it as a brave young warrior should.  
The view is nothing like what he has been told of Midgard; tall buildings that reach up and scrape the very sky that is a brilliant clear blue instead of blank grey skies and wooden huts encrusted in filth and mud. This is not what was described in stories about this place. It is breathtaking.  
  
A woman that Sif would envy for her grace and beauty enters. She is not an Asgardian, but she could pass for one if she tried, with her bright fiery hair and pale ivory skin. She takes the sight of him in her stride, rolling her eyes up to the sky.  
"Not another one! Okay, fine."  
She closes her eyes, resigned, and kneels on the floor with her head bowed.  
“You may speak.” Her tone is clipped and businesslike.  
"Prince Thor of Asgard, you are now on Midgard, what we here call Earth, in the state of New York. I, the... Er, lady Natasha, invite you to dine with us downstairs. I have found another child who is in the same predicament as you and I think he would like to meet you--"  
"What does this child look like?" This child she speaks of may be Loki! If Thor is here on Midgard, why wouldn't his brother be?  
"Er... He's got pale skin, dark hair, kind of skinny?" It is Loki, after all! Thor behaves as a young prince should. "His name is--"  
"Lady Natasha, you may rise. I am on Midgard, you say? Why might I be here?" Lady Natasha chuckles.  
"Fuck knows-- er, sorry Prince Thor. Please, call me Natasha. The... _dining hall_ is this way." She says kindly, and Thor follows her.  
  
\--  
The toaster is _alive_ , Tony thinks with a giggle. It makes funny beeping and whistling noises like it's talking to him. It's more like a dog than a toaster, and that makes Tony smile happily. If you ask it its name, the little screen flashes letters that say 'Gertrude. Blame Steve, Tony did NOT come up with the stupid name'. It’s weird.  
There's a switch on the side labeled in black sharpie that says 'Steve/Thor Incoming' which Natasha said meant that someone would come and they might break the toaster, and if you press it they couldn't use it, which doesn’t make much sense. That's strange.  
  
There are weird settings on the toaster, too; eight buttons that are labeled Steve, Tony, Clint, Thor (Poptarts), Thor, Agent, Bruce and Natasha.  
Tony presses the one that says 'Tony' and his toast comes out perfectly, all lovely golden brown. It's turning out to be a good day (all things considering) until a British man's voice comes over some speakers saying,  
"I believe that you should go and find Thor, Miss Romanov." Natasha makes Tony come with her up seven floors to a big lab, just to find the nervous-looking man from the picture, and they sit in the kitchen together whilst they wait for her to come back.  
  
"So, I'm Bruce.... Er, how's life?" The man-- Bruce-- says.  
Tony doesn't dignify him with a response, raising an eyebrow. There's an awkward silence where Bruce twists his fingers and Tony taps his on the table and then he gives an anxious chuckle.  
Tony considers just not answering with anything.  
"Who's the man in the ceiling?" He says instead.  
"Oh, that's Jarvis. He's an AI."  
Tony giggles. "That's not Jarvis! Jarvis lives at my house. What's an AI?"  
"It's an artificial intelligence, like a virtual person. Jarvis is very special. The only one like himself, at least in this century. He... He was designed by a very special man, named after someone he knew."  
"Was it _my_ Jarvis? I wouldn't be surprised, my Jarvis is great and really nice, this Jarvis must be too—there aren’t that many people called Jarvis, are there? I don’t think so, and even then, my Jarvis might be the best of all of them because he’s so amazing, an AI named after him has gotta be great. " Then the British voice (Is it his Jarvis? It does sound like him) floods through the room again. "Thank you, Sir." Tony lets loose another giggle.  
"I'm not _sir_! Call me Tony."  
"Sir, I'm afraid that--"  
"Please, Jarvis?" He gives his most adorablest smile at the ceiling and makes his eyes go big and round. The voice-- Jarvis-- sighs resignedly and sounds just like _his_ Jarvis.  
"Sir, we have had this argument over one thousand, three hundred and seventy six times. I--" Tony makes his smile grow even wider. "Yes. Tony."  
"Ooh, that sounds funny. My Jarvis hasn't given in yet. You really do sound like him."  
"Thank you, sir?"  
"Jarvis!"  
"Sorry, sir." Tony smiles and takes another bite of his perfect toast. Bruce just stares at him with a sort of fond smile on his face. Tony is getting creeped out, until Bruce eventually says,  
"God, Tony, this is weird."  
"I don't think it's that weird," Says Tony matter-of-factly. "I mean, I have been kidnapped before. I'm not very young. It's the third time now. Although, you are much nicer than the other guys. So, have you already sent the ransom note or am I gonna have to stay here a bit longer?" He takes a hopefully nonchalant bite into warm, buttery toast as Bruce chokes on his orange juice.  
" _Kidnapped_?! Oh, God no, Tony. No, you were _definitely_ not kidnapped. Nat didn't tell you?"  
"Nat didn't tell who what?" Her voice comes from the doorway with a small blonde boy in tow. "This is Thor, Prince of Asgard." The boy looks at Tony with disappointment, as if hoping to see someone else. Wouldn't be the first time.  
"Hi, Thor, Prince of Asgard. Have you been kidnapped too?"  
"Nay!" The boy says imperiously. "A prince of Asgard cannot have kidnapped by Midgardians." He turns and points at Tony "And you! You are not Loki. Where is my brother, witch?" He stares at Natasha now.  
"Thor, I don't know where your brother is."  
"Nat-" Bruce starts, but Natasha cuts him off.  
“Bruce.” She says, level. “Over here.” She takes him over to one side, so that Tony and Thor can only  
"We can't tell them."  
"We should. Just about Loki. Nothing else. You'd want to know." Natasha sighs and glares at Bruce, who shudders.  
"Tony, come with me. Those two need to talk." Bruce leads Tony out of the room, into a place with some comfy sofas. They melt into the soft leather, Bruce's hands warm on his shoulders. Bruce stares into Tony's eyes. "Tony," he says, real gentle like he honestly cares. There's a depth of warmth in his eyes and something impossibly kind that makes his chest hurt and feel all warm like it did with the lady. "I know you’re not gonna believe me now, but honestly, you’re not gonna be hurt and you’ve _not_ been kidnapped. You’re gonna be _fine._ Listen, I'm not trying to be horrible here-- you must be scared and confused, but I will do everything in my power to make sure you get back home, okay?"  
Tony nods with a sniffle. "Okay." His voice comes out small. His eyes burn with unshed tears and he buries his face in Bruce's neck to hide them, whispering a choked "Thank you.”  
  
Just then, a loud smashing sounds from the kitchen. Tony wipes his eyes quickly and rushes in with Bruce—Thor is standing in the centre of the room with a murderous fury in his eyes, and he’s just thrown a plate to the ground so it smashes.  
"LIAR!" He shouts, snatching a kitchen knife off the table and readying it. Natasha stays calm, sneaking furtive glances at Bruce.  
 "It's true, Thor, listen, he nearly killed you, and one of my best friends, everyone--"  
"My brother is NOT a murderer! You have taken me from Asgard to this strange planet and kidnapped my brother too! Now you are lying to me?! Take me to see Loki, mortal, and I may let you live." He sweeps his hand over the table and a plate comes smashing to the floor. That's not nice, and it is reminiscent of something else that Tony has had to see at home.  
"Hey, you leave her alone!" Tony says, rising.  
"What cause do you have to be here? Leave me!"  
"No! That's not nice, so stop it!" Thor hurls another plate violently at Tony, but he ducks so it crashes a few inches away from Bruce, who’s curled up on himself and shaking ever-so-slightly.  
“Who are you to talk to me?!”  
"Guys.... St-stop....." Bruce grits out, shuddering. His voice is much deeper than it used to be. And does he look.... Green? His eyes weren't always that vibrant green color, were they? Waves of the green ripple over his skin and Bruce desperately clutches at the solid granite worktop. Natasha looks panicked, face paling. Bruce's knuckles turn white with the force of his grip. With a horrible groaning, creaking, scraping sound, the granite crumbles and leaves finger shaped dents in the worktop. Thor is still yelling at Natasha and Tony angrily.  
Just then, the door opens and in comes a tall blonde man who's whistling merrily, looking just like the pictures that Daddy has. His face falls at the shouting and the scene before him.  
"STOP!" He yells. His voice becomes a deadly hiss as he points at the two seven year olds. "You and _you_! I don't know who you are, or what the HELL you're doing here, but you'd better sit down and _shut the hell_ up. Nat, look after them, keep them quiet." He rushes over to the shaking Bruce and puts his hands on his shoulders. "Bruce! Bruce, please look at me." His voice is hushed and urgent. "I'm here, you're fine, calm down, okay? Nothing happened, you're safe. All the idiots have... stopped being idiots, okay?" He lets out a quiet, breathless chuckle. The man continues to babble soothing nonsense to Bruce until he's stopped shaking and the faintest tinge of green has vanished from his eyes. The man lets out a shaky breath, grins then and slaps Bruce on the back. "Good!" He says. "Now, 'Tasha, I got your text. Where would Clint be? I'll go get him."  
"The range or his SHIELD barracks. Not in the Tower."  
"Okay. Actually, Bruce, can you go to SHIELD and try and find Clint? And Coulson too, while you're at it. Bring them here."  
Bruce nods. "Sure."  
"Nat, come with me. You two! Not one word to each other unless it's an apology."  
"But-"  
"Not. One. Word."  
The two children nod silently.  
The man drags Natasha into the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce goes on a quest to find the other Avengers, and runs into a few other people.  
> And maybe gains a small crush on the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you guys have no idea of the chaos that's been going on in my life, and I've been dealing with such a huge case of writer's block that I'm just gonna shut up and quit all excusing my leaving for an insane amount of time and just apologise.
> 
> Also, this is unbetaed so please, please be nice and tell me instead of quietly scoffing at the computer if there is a spelling/grammar error so I can fix it and mentally slap myself.

"Please God tell me they aren't Tony's kids," Are the first panicked words out of Steve's mouth. Tasha laughs.  
"Definitely not." Steve breathes a sigh of relief, slumping against the fridge with a smile. Then she continues, "That is the actual deaged Tony and Thor."  
"What?!"  
"After what happened yesterday with Loki… It's definitely them. What were you expecting?"  
"I don't know. 'Seven year olds in The Tower, come now' is kind of ambiguous. Oh, lord." Natasha nods and hums agreement.  
"Now, we don't know if anyone else is like them-- if there is it's probably Clint or Coulson." She pauses as if a thought has struck her. "What will we tell the kids?"  
"They should know."  
"Not everything.” They're interrupted by Natasha's cell chiming. "Sorry, can I?" She pulls it out of her pocket-- it's a text from Bruce.

_/He's not at the range or in his room_   
_-BB/_   
_/Check the vents._   
_-NR/_   
_/Vents?_   
_-BB/_   
_/Air vents above the range or his room. Don't ask._   
_-NR/_   
_/I won't. U guys r 2 weird._   
_-BB/_   
_/Ooh, text language now._   
_-NR/_   
_/Shut up_   
_-BB/_

She puts her cell away, smirking.  
"What's happening?" Steve asks, face drawn tight with worry. She snickers.  
"Bruce told me to shut up, so I'm being petty and ignoring him until he apologizes. Then again, he's a man, so we may have to wait awhile before he gets the hint."  
The cell phone chimes again but she ignores it, and she continues at Steve's raised eyebrow. "Clint's not in the range or his room. I told him to check the vents."  
"Vents?"  
"Why does everyone say that? It's air vents-- secluded, safe, high up and out of everyone's reach. Also it's a great place to spy on people. How do you think that Clint always knows the best gossip?"  
"Fair point."  
"Thank you. Tell Bruce to get Coulson; he'll want to see this, especially if Clint is involved." She looks up at Steve's expression and laughs slightly. "Don't ask, you don't even want to know." Her cell chimes with another text from Bruce as Steve gets out his cell and very slowly types in the text, taking forever to find a key and press it (even though he's actually getting better). Still ignoring her chiming cell phone, she takes the cell from him with a sigh and rapidly finishes the text he was about to try and send to Bruce. "See? I _am_ faster." Steve looks confused.  
"But you're not texting Bruce, being petty, remember?"  
"The point is he won't know it's me." She says smugly, checking her messages to see if Bruce has apologized yet. Nope.

 _/ Nat?_  
-BB/  
 _/Nat?_  
-BB/  
 _/Nat._  
-BB/  
 _/NAT._  
-BB/  
 _/Oh, ha-fucking-ha. I'M NOT LAUGHING._  
-BB/

"What did Bruce say to you?"  
"He's going to go check Clint's room, needs to go find Coulson again."  
"Okay."  
"He apologized yet?"  
"No." Her cell chimes again, and again, and Natasha pretends not to notice Steve typing something into his cell as she checks her messages.

_/You're super mean. You know that?_   
_-BB/_   
_/STOP IGNORING ME._   
_-BB/_   
_/Oh, I get it now. I'm sorry. *Puppy dog eyes*_   
_-BB/_

  
“Steve?”  
“Yes?”  
“What did you just text to Bruce?”  
Steve flushes and looks away guiltily.  
He really is a terrible liar.

Oo0oO

So, apparently Steve has a new superpower; the ability to walk into a room and fix things in matter of minutes. This is, of course, added to his other superpowers, making him pretty much—well, perfect— while some people are left being scrawny nerds with a tendency to turn into giant green 'rage-monsters' that really should not be left unsupervised around young children (even though, if caught in the right mood, the Hulk really likes kids, he gets upset if they start crying and then, well…).  
Oh, right, speaking of young children, he’s out looking to see whether Clint has turned into a kid. Not something he’s ever really thought would happen a few years ago.

On the way to find Clint at his SHIELD barracks, Bruce stops by Coulson’s office—you know, just to check if he’s not eight years old, perfectly usual stuff—to find his way blocked by a surprisingly young, cute, brunette assistant.

"Nope, no way are you going in there.” She says firmly, standing up from behind her desk with her hands on her hips. She's pretty, but looking slightly out of place in her style—professional, but still just _different_ from everyone else somehow. Maybe it’s the purple scarf. Or the lime green knit hat on her desk surrounded by stuffed owls.  
“Who are you?”  
“Coulson’s assistant,” she says proudly, continuing, “and, as his assistant, I say that there is no way you are going in there.” Wait, what?  
“Since when did Coulson get an assistant?”  
“Since I was offered a new iPod.” What? That’s not even important right now Bruce, shut up! “With all my old songs on it.” She sings, grinning to herself.  
“This is urgent.” She rolls her eyes.  
“I’m sorry, Mr…”  
“Banner.”  
“Well, I’m sorry _Mr_. _Banner_ , but I just faced off Fury, Hill, and an adorable little baby agent and I’m not going to back down just because some dude in a Han Shot First tee-shirt with unidentified chemical stains on it shows up here. The Boss Man is doing important things in his office. So go. Away.” Shit, he’d forgotten about the shirt.  
“Um… This is avengers business?” She snorts, geek glasses falling off her nose a little. She quickly pushes them back up and tosses her head.  
“Yeah, sure, Mr. Banner. I’m totally convinced that you’re an avenger, you really look like one.”  
Bruce can’t help but break into a tiny rueful smile at that, and mutter,  
“I’m not convinced, myself.” Still, despite not believing it himself, he still looks her in the eye and says to her, “I may not look like an avenger, but the Hulk definitely does.”

And he pushes past her into Coulson’s office.

\---

 _Well, this is awkward_ , Bruce thinks as he stares down at the motionless form of Agent Phillip J. Coulson head down and drooling on his paperwork. _I get why she didn’t let me in now._  
  
Speaking of, the ‘assistant’ comes up behind him and drags him back out.  
“There is a reason why I didn’t let you in,” she hisses at him.  
“Yeah, I get it now, thank you very much.” He whispers back.  
“I _said_ you couldn’t go in.”  
“I know that, but I needed to see him!” She shushes him violently, and he lowers his voice back down.  
“He hasn’t left this building in over forty-eight hours, and the only reason he leaves his office is for coffee; I am _not_ going to let you disturb the only sleep he’s getting,” the assistant whispers furiously. Fine, she has a point. But if Bruce knows Coulson…  
“He wouldn’t have fallen asleep on his own, not here.”  
“ _Forty-eight_ hours, Mr. Banner—”  
“Bruce.”  
“Bruce. This is SHIELD. I drugged his coffee,” she says simply. Bruce thinks she looks all too proud of herself, seeing as she just admitted to drugging her boss.  
“Well, _I’m_ sorry, Miss…” he whispers loudly, a mimicry of her earlier words.  
“Darcy.”  
“I’m sorry, _Darcy_ , but this is actually Avengers business! We have to wake him up. Two of the avengers have been turned into kids—“ He’s interrupted by Darcy bursting into laughter, then quickly smothering it to avoid waking the sleeping agent.  
“It’s not funny. Baby Tony thought he’d been kidnapped.”  
“Oh, those rich kids,” Darcy sighs, waving a hand. Bruce can’t help but smile.  
“We can’t find Clint, either.”  
“Barton?” Bruce nods.  
“Check the vents.” Why does everyone seem to know that?  
“Will do. Darcy.” He turns to leave. “Thanks. Could you wake Coulson up for me and send him to Clint’s room please?” She winks and nods. “See you later, Avenger.”

Oo0oO

In the end, Steve and Nat decide to tell them about their older selves, but not much else. Tony and Thor’s reactions vary—from Thor (still sulking after Steve gave him a real talking-to and made him do chores to make up for threatening Natasha and breaking the plates) continuously asking about Loki, only future Loki this time, to Tony wondering about his future self, the Iron Man suit and how it works, the Avengers, the team dynamic, SHIELD, everything and asking endless questions.  
It would be incredibly annoying, if Little Tony didn’t have such bright brown eyes and the most adorable smile. Little Thor is cute, too; but only sometimes, when he isn’t being a little brat.  
However, hearing about Loki’s post-magic-removal escapades are a source of constant delight for him. Natasha’s just telling him about the flying purple hippos (omitting a few choice details) while Tony listens avidly when Thor catches sight of Mjolnir lying on the coffee table.  
“Mjolnir!”  
Thor _sprints_ to the table, ignoring the TV which was such a wonder for him in the beginning, and flutters his hands around the hammer without letting his hands touch it in awe. Steve shrugs.  
“Oh, yeah, Older You left it on the table and no one else can move it, so—”  
Little Thor gasps excitedly. “I grow to be worthy of Mjolnir?” He says it with such seriousness that Steve takes a step back uncomfortably.  
“Um… Yes?”

The look on his little face makes Steve’s day.

Oo0oO

Clint wakes up wrapped in strong arms, not daring to open his eyes. His first thought should be that it's Daddy, but Daddy never carries him, just gets Mommy to do it or wakes him up all loud like. Mommy never carries him like this; always makes his head flip over her shoulder and bang into things, or lets his too long limbs flop around. Here, he's held tight and safe to someone's chest, feeling it rise up and down as they breathe while a strong, warm hand gently cradles his head. Hushed, warm words fill his ears, not harsh, cut-off vowels and angry shouts.  
This person's clothes are different too— not old, thin cotton that hangs loosely off the body and barely hides the unnatural thinness lurking there; instead it's something soft and smooth that he’s never really seen before. The thought makes him smile sleepily and the body carrying him shifts slightly, voices that were just background noise becoming clear to his ears, if softer.  
"Shhh, look, he's waking up," it's said with a soft awe from somewhere near his head and resonates where he's being held tight to someone's chest.  
"Maybe you should put him down on the couch, so he can get back to sleep before Natasha gets here," the other voice gently suggests from further away. He doesn’t want to be put down, wants to be held warm like this forever, but he can’t make himself move, eyes so heavy and brain all fogged up. Clint is hugged closer for a second, before kind hands are lowering him onto a soft couch. He mourns the loss of those warm hands and struggles to open his eyes, but soon a plush blanket is draped over his body and one of those hands is stroking his hair, and he's quickly falling into a hazy sleep.

\---

Ever since they had found Clint curled up in the air vent above his bed, Coulson had been acting… weird. He’d arrived in a competent rush (fucking secret agents), fifteen minutes after Bruce left, with his hair still wet and a nick on his throat where he’d obviously just hurriedly shaved. It proves how tired Coulson was, to let that show.  
The second he’d found Clint, though? He’d scooped him up in his arms and now is refusing to put the boy down, cradling him with extreme care and gentleness, calmly deflecting all Bruce’s questions (well, that part isn’t really uncommon) without batting an eye.  
The shooting range had been full of SHIELD agents who thought it would be best to give Bruce a wide berth, none of whom had seen Clint since yesterday evening; he was beginning to fear the worst, and so brought in Darcy to help again. (It’s a strange day when ‘the worst’ actually means ‘turned into a child by a crazy Norse god’, even with Bruce being fairly used to the whole Green Rage Monster thing.)  
When Bruce had found Coulson, he’d already gone to Darcy _again_ , and let her insist on coming along to find the access codes to Clint’s room. Coulson was already at the range, and said immediately what Natasha did in her text and what Darcy did by the office—air vents (what the hell)—and so the three of them trekked back up to Clint’s barracks to check out the hypothesis. Sure enough, over Clint’s bed there was a loose grille that opened up to small metal tunnels. Jesus Christ, it was like something out of Mission: Impossible. There was a tiny Clint lying there, swathed in a thin blanket that seemed too big for him. Okay, it was pretty adorable. That could be why Coulson won’t let him go, apart from to lay the boy on the couch in his office. He asked Darcy about it (She Who Knows Everything, apparently), and found out about this decades-long flirtation between the two that was way more than a flirtation on both sides, but apparently they’re just that oblivious so they haven’t actually realized it yet. Romcom, much?  
“How long have you been working here?” He asks her.  
“Oh, about two months.” She says coolly.  
“How is it even  _possible_ to know that much gossip?”  
“I have my sources.” Darcy looks smug. “How do you even get to SHIELD, anyway?”  
“There was a thing whilst I was interning for extra credit with this astrophysicist called--”  
Coulson looks up from his desk chair where he’d been filling out some paperwork.  
“She was there when we found Thor in New Mexico.” Darcy pretends like she’s remembering something.  
“Thor… blonde, avenger, twelve-pack and in love with his hammer that shoots magical lightning?”  
“That came out wrong.”  
“Or so very right,” she grins. “What? He named it mew-mew!” Bruce sighs. Darcy shrugs, and says,  
“Who cares. I’ve seen him shirtless. He sounds British!” She waggles her eyebrows lewdly.  
“Wait, _you’re_ the Lady Darcy? The one with the 'weapon of lightning'?” he makes air quotes with his fingers and Darcy clasps a hand to her heart.  
“Aw, does Thor talk about me?”  
“Your friend hit him with a car. Twice.”  
“And I tazed him. Twice. Once in his sleep just to see what it looked like. I don’t think he noticed.” Coulson cuts in.  
“She marched up to my office demanding an iPod and she wouldn’t back down. I thought she’d be a good assistant.”  
“Oh, honey, you do care!”

\---

When he eventually leaves the SHIELD offices, Baby Clint in tow followed by Steve and Coulson, he can't help but grin when he's told that Darcy wants to check things out tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which JARVIS cannot print flowerpots, Steve is utterly lost, Bruce is nervous, an angry pirate shows up and Coulson is drugged while the unicorn hunt begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided to find some way of making Coulson drugged (probably by Darcy) in every chapter he's in, just for fun.  
> I'm also having fun with Bruce at the moment, so I think I'm going to include a lot from his point of view-- if anyone has objections, please say.
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos make me smile, and comments make me sit up and laugh stupidly to myself. I try to reply to every one someone sends me as soon as I can.
> 
>  
> 
> (I'm also going to say this because I can and no-one I know cares-- I went to Chessington yesterday, and found a grammar error on one of the restaurants' titles. I wanted to scream in frustration.)  
> And, as a reward for reading my rant about grammar or being smart enough to skip it because you don't care, have some story :)

The sun rises over Avengers Tower, and with it comes three hyperactive children.  
Steve, needing the least sleep of all of them, offers to go and make breakfast. Natasha winces at any form of light and nods, and Bruce just rolls over and buries his face in the pillow with a groan.  
They slept in the living room last night, and he’s seriously regretting offering to take the floor.

“Wakey wakey, rise and shine, boys,” Darcy calls loudly, striking a dramatic pose against the curtains. Bruce cracks an eye open and watches her blurrily. “Let there be light!”  
Nothing happens, and Darcy pouts. “JARVIS, please?” The curtains reluctantly (if curtains can be reluctant) open. Bruce scratches a hand through the stubble on his face. Natasha is somehow dressed and awake, looking perfect as usual within two minutes.

Fucking spies.

“Morning!” Darcy practically sings. Bruce hates Morning People just a little bit in that moment. “Breakfast’s on, _a la_ Steve. And I brought reinforcements with me, by the way—people to help with the babies,” she says with a quiet snigger while Bruce manages to raise himself up from the floor and look cautiously at his t-shirt.  
 _‘I Like Making Bad Chemistry Jokes Because All The Good Ones Argon’._  
Damn.  
“I’m not always like this, I swear. I have taste.” He gets a laugh for that.  
“Sure.” Darcy looks over to him. “Come on now, up, up, up! We’ve got three tiny Avengers to look after, and now I’ve brought Jane and Pepper with me we have to make sure they don’t work themselves to death with the tiny people.” She looks oddly guilty for a moment.  
“What.”  
“Did I mention that Jane and Selvig are kind of a set? And that Pepper brings Rhodey who calls People which do stuff that means that—”  
“Darcy. What.”  
“Fury might possibly be coming at nine and it’s your job to tell Coulson!” she says in a rush and runs out the room.

Oh, god.

He gets up a little faster after that.

\---

Okay, fine: maybe this isn’t a kidnapping, but Tony’s definitely being held here against his will. It’s beginning to bug him. Normally he’d play the whiny brat and beg incessantly for his parents, but he doubts that would actually _work_ because a) they’re stupidly nice and would probably actually bring Howard over and b) he’s pretty sure that Captain America’s in the room with him.  
Seeing as he’s most definitely not a moron, he’s decided he’s not gonna ask ‘Steve’ whether he’s a dead superhero from the forties (and if so how the hell he’s alive and well) and instead figure it out himself. Which shouldn’t be too hard—it’s a fairly simple hypothesis.  
Or is it?

Step one: ask the man in the ceiling for help. He’s pretty sure that the real Jarvis is still at his house, so that could be Jarvis’ cousin or something. He seems nice, but it still feels wrong to call him Jarvis.  
“Hello?” he calls, gazing up at the ceiling and spinning around aimlessly. “Um… Jarvis?” Not-Jarvis makes an odd huffing noise through the speakers. Is not-Jarvis… _laughing_ at him?  
“Sir?” he asks finally, amusement seeping into his voice. Tony frowns.  
“ _Tony._ ” A sigh from the speakers, and then:  
“Tony?” Tony grins.  
“Hello,” he says.  
“Hello,” Jarvis replies in a measured tone.  
“How are you?”  
“Very well, thank you. And you?”  
“I’m okay, I guess.” He pauses. “Can you print things?”  
“It depends on your definition of ‘things’, sir.”  
“ _Tony._ ”  
“Tony. For example, _Tony,_ ” Yeah, Not-Jarvis is definitely laughing. “I am not able to print flowerpots. Or pasta.”  
“Flowerpots?”  
“Those are the examples I have been given for any situation involving one.”  
"One what?"  
"One example." Tony wrinkles his eyebrows.  
“Really?”  
“I assure you, I am correct in the assumption that I am not able to print flowerpots.” Tony can’t help but glare up at the ceiling.  
“I know that,” he says, then pauses as a thought strikes him. “How would someone print flowerpots?” A measured pause, and then:  
“I do not believe the technology is available or remotely useful, sir.”  
“Tony.”  
“Tony.”  
“Good. Jarvis.” He bites his lip. “I mean pictures. Can you print pictures? Do you _have_ pictures?”  
“Yes, sir. I am able to print pictures.”  
“Could you print me a picture, please?”  
“Of course, sir.”  
“ _Tony._ ”  
“Tony.”  
“What would you like me to print a picture of?”  
“Do you have one of Captain America? A real-life one, not one of the cartoons.”  
“Yes, sir; which photo would you like?” Not-Jarvis says.  
“Um—” Tony yelps and falls backwards when a huge blue screen appears in front of his face. “I—um, I don’t—just pick one,” he says hurriedly, shielding his eyes against the light.  A slip of paper falls from a hole in the ceiling accompanied by a strange whirring noise.  
“Will that be all, sir?”  
“Um, yeah, thank you,” Tony says distractedly, staring at the page. He stands up, dazed.  
One photo of Captain America: check.

Step two: compare the picture with the possibly real version. This is harder than it looks.  
Currently, Tony is hidden under the counters in the kitchen waiting for ‘Steve’ to walk past, and holds his breath at the sound of footsteps coming closer.  
It’s Bruce.  
“Damn,” he mutters under his breath, then realizes he probably shouldn’t say that. Then he shrugs and remembers he doesn’t actually care.  
 Suddenly a smiling face is under the counter with him.  
“Doing something fun?” Bruce asks. Tony scowls at him.  
“Maybe.”  
“What’s in your hand?” Tony snatches the photo close to his chest.  
“Nothing,” he says defensively. “What’s it to you?” Bruce shrugs.  
“Nothing else to do,” he says. “My lab partner left town for a while.” He comes and folds himself up under the counter with Tony. “So, what are you doing?” Tony looks at him speculatively. He could maybe help. A little.  
“A stakeout,” he whispers. Bruce raises his eyebrows.  
“For what?” Tony narrows his eyes.  
“I can’t tell you.”  
“Why?” He tilts his head.  
“I can’t tell you. It’s classified.” Bruce chuckles.  
“Really?”  
“Yes.” There’s a pause where he sneaks a look at the reference picture again and tucks it close to his chest as Natasha walks past them. She glances down, raises an eyebrow and keeps moving.  
“Stakeout?” she asks calmly. Tony glares.  
“Maybe.” She doesn’t say anything else and leaves. Bruce looks at him, tilting his head like a bird.  
“So, what’s this stakeout for?” He’s got a funny crinkle in his forehead that makes Tony try desperately not to giggle because this is a _serious_ experiment. He narrows his eyes instead.  
“Information,” Tony whispers.  
“On who?” Bruce raises an eyebrow. Tony mentally measures Bruce’s powers of secret-keeping versus his loyalty.  
“I can’t tell you.”  
“Really?”  
“Yes.” Bruce sighs, long and exaggerated.  
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to stay here with you, then.”  
Tony does his best not to scowl.

Seeing as he ends up waiting for two hours (with Bruce), until ‘Steve’ walks past, Tony decides his method needs a little work.  
  
\---  
  
“Fury’s _what?!_ ”  
Bruce cringes. He’d just left Tony after procrastinating for two hours under the counter in the kitchen doing some form of a stakeout (even though he’s not entirely sure of what that means) and marched straight up to the room where Coulson’s been staying for a few weeks now before Bruce lost his nerve.  
He really regrets not walking slower.  
“He might be coming for a meeting in—” Bruce checks his watch. “—half an hour?” Coulson sighs and closes his eyes.  
“Oh, god. How much has this place been trashed?” Bruce mentally calculates the broken plates, a vase that’s gotten smashed to pieces, the pile of metal scraps under the rug from Tony that he’s been pretending not to notice, the drawn-on wall that no-one will admit to, whatever else Clint has done/brought to the vents and what damage the other two have done in the past ten minutes, and adds it up to be—  
“A little?” He pretends not to see Coulson smashing his head against the desk.  
“Shit.” Something must be wrong, or someone screwed up _bad_ —Coulson doesn’t swear.  
“Coulson?” The man in question doesn’t even move, just thumps his head back down onto the desk.  
“We’re dead,” he groans. “And Thor needs a unicorn.” He suddenly straightens, then looks up at Bruce and smiles. “I’ll be down in half an hour.”  
It would be reassuring if not for the utterly depressed voice in which Coulson says it.  
  
Darcy looks oddly anxious when Bruce walks out of the room.  
“How is he? Is he okay? Is he acting weird? Does he look vaguely human?” Oh, no.  
“What did you do to him?” Bruce can’t help how tired he sounds. Darcy raises her hands in defense.  
“He wasn’t sleeping, okay! And he was all crabby, and injured, and—” Bruce cuts her off.  
“Darcy.” She looks down guiltily. “What did you do.”  
“Imayhavedrgdscfee,” she mumbles into her shirt.  
“What?” She squirms.  
“I drugged his coffee again, alright?” Bruce groans internally.  
“With what?” She fidgets and doesn’t meet his eyes. “ _With what?_ ” he asks again, panicking now. She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, until:  
“Imnotentirelysure,” she says in a rush.  
“What do you mean, _you’re not sure?_ ” Darcy coughs awkwardly.  
“It was something the R&D guys gave me, they said it would loosen him up a little—he’s been so stressed lately, and with the stab wound and everything I thought—” Stab wound? He says as much, and Darcy blinks, shocked. “Even I know that.” At his raised eyebrow, she carries on, “Battle of New York? While you went all big and green and decided to bail, Coulson went after Loki with some huge gun, got stabbed in the chest with the scepter. No?” Bruce stutters over how she phrased him ‘hulking out’ without even a pause and settles on the fact that Coulson _got stabbed in the chest with a Chitauri spear._ Someone has obviously decided to neglect to tell him this. This definitely explains why everyone’s been so protective of Coulson.  
Wow, Bruce has missed a _lot._ “It’s gonna wear off in about an hour, he probably won’t even notice,” she says quietly. Bruce clears his head and sighs.  
“Okay,” he says, and then repeats it as if to reaffirm his point. “Okay. We need to meet up in the kitchen because Fury will be coming in about ten minutes—oh god, we’re dead— and we need to buy food and get clothes for the kids—”  
“Pepper’s done the clothes, and I think JARVIS took care of the food,” Darcy puts in.  
“—but we need to figure out how to get them back because Thor’s…” a thought strikes him. “Oh, god. What did Coulson mean when he said he wanted a unicorn?” Darcy looks worried.  
So is Bruce.

\---  
  
“Where is this magnificent horned beast I have heard wonders about?” Thor’s asking excitedly, tugging on Steve’s shirt. What is he _doing?_ Is he hungry or something? _  
_God, Steve’s not good with kids, at all. _  
_“I, um…” and, of course, _now_ is the time he chooses to forget his words. “I, um,” He says again. _Horned beast…_ “You mean… a unicorn?” he asks uncertainly. It was either that or a rhino, and Steve doesn’t really know what those look like, despite The Google and JARVIS’ efforts. Thor nods, grinning.  
“Yes! The Son of Coul had offered his assistance in finding such a creature, but he had to take leave to his quarters.” He frowns. “May you help me in capturing the beast?”  
Oh, god. What?  
“Um… sure?”  
  
And thus the hunt begins.

Steve has discovered that there are no unicorns under the couch or (much to Thor’s dismay) in the TV which happens to be obnoxiously large and endlessly fascinating to both of them, and Thor has searched all the bathrooms. Apparently this means that unicorns are not fond of water.  
Natasha joins in and can find no unicorns either. Steve tries to ask about Clint but she just points a finger towards the ceiling and hushes him.

Pepper helps out in the unicorn hunt for about five minutes before just asking JARVIS to check, at which point Thor looks scandalized and tells her that asking the All-Knowing One would be cheating, and requests she leaves the search. She looks amused, and makes a phone call as she leaves.  
“Captain Rogers?” Steve jerks, startled, and Thor jumps backwards with a yelp.  
“Yes, JARVIS?” he smiles warmly despite the near heart-attack.  
“Doctor Banner would ask that you join him in the kitchen,” the AI begins. Thor pouts.  
“But we are not finished in our noble quest!” there’s a very… _pointed_ sigh from the ceiling.  
“I have been told to inform you that there you will find a—” it sounds as if it is painful to say the next word, “— _unicorn._ ” Thor brightens.  
“Then, I shall gladly join those of us in the dining hall.”

\--  
  
Everyone’s gathering in Tony’s obscenely large kitchen for Fury’s arrival, and Darcy keeps sneaking glances at him from the other end of the room.  
It’s pretty distracting. She keeps winking at him and Bruce tries desperately to not blush every time. Naturally, going from the flaming red state his face is in, he fails.  
  
He’s also at the head of the group, in front of Steve and Natasha because somehow, despite Steve’s perfect-ness and the fact that he’s, y’know, _team captain_ , they’ve decided to put Bruce in charge of the whole kids-thing.  
He’s touched, and also freaking out slightly.  
  
Which is why he’s a little concerned for the future of the human race because, out of the Avengers, _he_ is the one who’s best with kids. He eyes them carefully—Tony and Thor are fidgeting by the counter and Clint is… missing.

Oh, god.  
  
He looks meaningfully at Natasha and she (hopefully) leaves to go find the miniature archer. His throat is dry with nerves. Coulson’s not here yet and Pepper left to go to some SI meeting he thinks (after, as it turns out, ordering a unicorn from Toys R Us that Thor is now petting happily), but Jane, Selvig and Rhodey are all looking at the kids as if they might start spontaneously combusting any second.  
With any luck, Steve’s told them the situation in a way they can understand. Luck has had the habit of failing him, though.  
  
“JARVIS,” Bruce begins cautiously, “Could you tell me if Fury is on his way?”  
“I’m sorry, Dave, I’m afraid can’t do that,” comes the creepily even reply. Bruce grins. Even if he’s (technically) not there, Tony still finds a way to be— Tony.  
“He actually did that?” A sigh from the ceiling.  
“I am bound to my programming, Doctor Banner.”  
Bruce huffs a grudging laugh at the ceiling when Steve looks at him with wide, confused eyes.  
“ _’2001:A Space Odyssey.’_ ” Steve just looks even more bewildered. “We all have to watch that together when…” he trails off awkwardly. _If_ everyone gets back to normal _.  
_ JARVIS continues,  
“Director Fury has disabled any and all tracking devices used to trace his personal whereabouts—I am only able to tell you when he actually enters the building.” Bruce shrugs.  
“Good enough.”  
  
Natasha drops down from the ceiling with Clint struggling futilely in her arms and, from the looks of it, scares the living daylights out of Jane and Selvig, who both yell and jump backwards. Rhodey just glares at her stoically, and pales when she glares right back. Bruce blinks and suddenly Coulson’s sitting on the couch in the other room looking creepily blissed out.  
  
Fucking _spies._  
  
Clint’s still struggling and eventually goes vaguely limp before dashing to stand next to Tony, who’s sneaking strange, furtive glances over at Steve with the tiny frown in his forehead which means he’s thinking too hard—normally this would be solved with food, and/or coffee.  
That’s not really an option right now. Bruce is begging for a distraction other than Darcy snickering in the corner.  
“Doctor Banner?”  
“Yes, JARVIS?”  
“Director Fury is in the elevator approaching you now.”  
  
Oh, god. He did ask for it.


End file.
